Out through the Gate they nosed their way, heaving the lead
continuously, made a wide detour around Mile Rock and the Seal
Rocks, swung a mile to the south of the position of the _Maggie_,
and then came cautiously up the coast, whistling continuously to
acquaint the _Yankee Prince_ with their presence in the
neighbourhood. In anticipation of the necessity for replying to
this welcome sound, Captain Scraggs and Mr. Gibney had, for the
past two hours, busied themselves getting up another head of
steam in the _Maggie's_ boilers, repairing the whistle, and
splicing the wires of the engine room telegraph. Like the wise
men they were, however, they declined to sound the _Maggie's_
siren until the tugs were quite close. Even then, Mr. Gibney
shuddered, but needs must when the devil drives, so he pulled the
whistle cord and was rewarded with a weird, mournful grunt, dying
away into a gasp.
"Sounds like she has the pip," Jack Flaherty remarked to his
mate.
"Must have taken on some of that dirty Asiatic water," Dan Hicks
soliloquized, "and now her tubes have gone to glory."
Immediately, both tugs kicked ahead under a dead slow bell,
guided by a series of toots as brief as Mr.
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